


Webcams

by shieldivarius



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, Multi, Post Avengers (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldivarius/pseuds/shieldivarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha can’t read Phil via webcam. She doesn’t like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Webcams

Nat thought she was being subtle. All steady slipping away, no furtive looks, practiced grace that no one else—well, okay, there was one other person—would’ve been able to pinpoint as avoidant behaviour. Cool professionalism that didn’t have anyone else shooting her looks when she had her back turned. Or, well, wouldn’t have if there’d been anyone else around to shoot her looks.

Nat thought she was being subtle.

She wasn’t.

 

Clint grabbed the ringing tablet up off the bed and swiped his finger across the screen; dropped himself backward to sprawl across the bedspread, grin on his face.

“Jailbreak?”

A hint of a smile quirked the edge of the chapped lips on the other side of the connection, Clint’s grin contagious, bringing a glimmer into Phil’s tired eyes.

“Got a while to go,” came the slightly garbled response—Tony needed to look into the reception on this thing, or maybe they just needed a better Wi-Fi connection in this dump of a stakeout apartment.

“Any time you get sick of starchy, bleached pillows, Nat and I’ll get you out, no problem. She’s got maps.”

“I don’t doubt it.” The smile grew. “She around?”

Clint’s grin vanished at the hint of hope in his tone. “Knew you were calling. Took off to sit at the coffee shop the mark’s working at, and what the hell am I going to say?”

Phil’s face didn’t fall. He didn’t show any response at all, for that matter, and that was part of the problem. He gave no indication of how disappointed he was that Natasha hadn’t expressed any interest in talking to him since that first night, but he was disappointed. Upset, even.

Phil wasn’t subtle either, though the distance and tiny little webcam picture helped.

“I’m gonna talk to her, babe.”

“You’re working. I understand.”

Clint snorted. “Phil, this job’s a joke. Fury gave it to us to get us the hell out of the way because Nat’s a pain in the ass and you know it. We’re not even—”

“Clint.”

He snapped his jaw shut, teeth clicking loudly in his head.

“I know she misses you. We love you, okay?”

“I love you, too.”

Phil glanced at something Clint couldn’t see, attentive and listening to a voice he could barely make out through the lousy microphone.

“Have to go. Nurses aren’t happy I’m sitting up.”

He was grey, anyway, and Clint nodded, sharp, forcing his face still to hide his worry. Phil was healing, was safe, but a long road still lay ahead of them.

“Love you. Going to talk to Nat,” he repeated.

“Tell her I love her. I love you, too.” And just like that the call was over.

 

Natasha thought she was being subtle, slipping out every time Phil was scheduled to call so that she didn’t have to talk to him. Clint had an inkling, just a small one, of what the problem really was, but while her excuses had been getting flimsy, they’d been legitimate enough until today.

The door shut behind her and he heard the lock click, then the clatter of the chain as she slid it into place. She’d be slipping out of her heels now, and now hanging up her coat on the hook next to the door, keys back in her purse, the purse sitting on the table next to the door.

A moment later she walked into the open room that made up the bulk of their apartment, looking utterly unaffected, not a hair out of place.

“How’s Phil?” she asked. She’d ask after him, she just wouldn’t talk to him. “Did I miss his call?”

Smooth, Natasha.

The time ran out on his game of Bejewelled and he dropped the tablet onto the bed next to him.

“He misses you and wants to know why you’ve been avoiding him.”

She flinched.

No one else would have noticed it, except Phil, but Natasha Romanoff had just flinched.

“We’re working, Barton.”

Oooh, last name. Defensive. Nice.

“Yeah, that’s what he said. You’ve been avoiding him. Why?”

She filled up a glass of water from the tap, drained half of it with her head tilted back and looking like a fucking model as she did it. Then she put the half empty glass down on the counter and didn’t respond. Didn’t even face him, for that matter, like the spotty, broken tiles making up the kitchenette’s backsplash were more interesting than he was.

Hell, maybe they were.

He supposed they, at least, weren’t giving her the evil eye, or about to try and force her to discuss her feelings.

This relationship stuff was bullshit.

It was even more bullshit when he had to be the one in the middle, because, well… his sense of professionalism was on a completely different planet than Nat and Phil’s, lately.

They would hide their feelings behind it as long as they could, probably. Until they self-destructed, even.

Bullshit. Relationship bullshit.

“He almost fucking died, Nat, and in three weeks you’ve talked to him once.”

“I know.”

The water-drinking had been a performance, playing him the best way she knew how, well aware that it only worked about 50% of the time. Well, fine, 75% if he was honest.

Maybe 80%.

No more than that. No more than that when he was pissed at her for neglecting Phil, whose only crime was being stuck in intensive care. But if the water-drinking had been a performance, her voice and posture now was purely Natasha Romanoff.

And she felt guilty. Good.

“What the hell, Nat?”

“I _hate_ that thing. I can barely see him. I don’t know how he’s feeling. He could be lying his ass off and I wouldn’t be able to tell because none of his tells are in his face. It’s easier to avoid him than face _that_.” She fired the words at him, rapid rounds shooting from her, only turning to reveal herself, the distressed expression on her face, at the very last moment.

“He just wants to see you, Tasha. He’s doing okay. He’d be doing better if he could talk to you. Fuck, so would you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a fucking liar, sweetheart.”

When she stared him down instead of responding, an uncharacteristic slump to her shoulders, Clint sighed. Then he gave in, because she always won.

“He’s doing better than he was when you talked to him. And he knows what’s up, Nat. He’s not judging you, he just wants to see you.”

“I—”

“Want to see him just as badly."

“In person, yes.”

Got her to admit that much, at least. Barton, 1; Romanoff, a couple thousand past too high to count.

“Settle.”

“Clint—”

“Maybe it’ll make you feel shitty, but it’ll make _him_ happy.”

Pretend all she wanted, she wasn’t some ice queen who could ignore the needs of people she cared about. Not when they’d been laid bare in front of her, anyway—that was his strong suit. Like ignoring how uncomfortable she was right now? Yeah, he didn’t feel much remorse for that.

Resolution spread across Nat’s face, settling there. She crossed to the bed, sat down beside him, and grabbed up the tablet.

He slipped an arm around her waist, and she leaned back into him, fingers tapping out the code to unlock the tablet screen, then selecting Phil’s name from the contact list.

Confusion evaporated from Phil’s face upon answering the call and seeing them there, the expression replaced by a gentle smile.

“Hi,” Nat said after a minute.

“Hi,” Phil’s voice was just as soft, trying not to spook her. The corners of his eyes crinkled up a little. Happy, expressive, not unlike the Phil they got to see in private, even if he was on the other side of the continent and nowhere near arm’s reach.

Natasha relaxed against him, all at once.

“How are you feeling?”

She wouldn’t apologise, would pretend to the end of time that she’d really been that busy, but they were going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> http://shieldivarius.tumblr.com


End file.
